Dragon Rising
by nerhipsona
Summary: One prisoner is fated to bring justice to Alduin, the evader of time. His adventures are fated to bring him down in Skyrim's history, but will he be able to able to resist the desires of his dragon soul? Closely follows the main quest, loosely follows college of Winterhold and Companions quest lines. Contains OCs, and some OOC/Lore unfriendly NPCS.


Sundas, 17th of Last Seed, 4E 201

4:00 pm

The first thing he felt was the cold. Shivering, he attempted to right himself, blinking the sleep from his eyes as the smell of horses and steel filled his nose. Harsh white light flooded his eyes from the brilliant white sky, awash with snow-filled clouds loomed above him, nearly blinding the man. He lifted up his hands to shield his eyes— only to realize that they were bound with a length of thick rope. Divines above, he wondered, shaking his hair best he could out of his eyes. What on Nirn had happened?

"Hey, you. You're finally awake." Tearing his eyes away from the sky, the man turned to look at the source of the accented voice. Another Nord sat across from him in fur and scale armor, embellished with a length of blue fabric. Funny, the armored man could have been his brother. The same loose straw-blond hair, blue eyes, decent muscles— it was like looking into a mirror.

"Good to see that you're finally up! I was worried that they'd throw you to the wolves soon." His accent was the deep, lilting tone that only came from one place— Skyrim.

"Where am I?" The first man groaned, lifting his bound hands to rub his eyes. His head pounded as he sat up, wiping his hands as best he could across his face. The soldier chucked dryly, leaning forward in the cart.

"You're in Skyrim, my friend. Home of mead, elk, and beautiful women," he smiled, eyeing the other man over. "What'd you get arrested for? You look like shit."

The other man frowned, feeling his own face for a moment, surprised when his fingers came away wet with fresh blood.

"I don't know," he said honestly, drying his fingers on his pants. The soldier raised an eyebrow, leaning back again as the cart hit a jarring bump in the road.

"At least tell me your name? Mine's Ralof, by the way." He searched his memory for a name, and soon one came to him.

"Hrothgar." He replied, giving Ralof a nod.

"Named after the mountain, eh? Sorry you won't get to see it," Ralof said, regret flickering across his face. "Unfortunately, you'll have to settle for Helgen.

Before Hrothgar could ask what Helgen was, there was an outburst from someone else in the cart.

"Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along! The empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell!"

Hrothgar's eyes turned to the other man. He was darker-haired and paler-skinned, coupled with a week's worth exposure to dirt and a terrified expression looked for all the world insane.

"Don't worry about the horse thief. He's looked ready to piss himself ever since his capture," Ralof chuckled, rolling his eyes. The thief's pale face instantly reddened as he sputtured in indignation, trying to look dignified best he could in restraints on a bumpy road.

"You and him are part of the problem too! What's wrong with him anyways, that he's gagged? Got his tounge chopped off by the Imperials?"

Hrothgar's eyes turned to the next prisoner in the cart, seated only a short ways away. The last Nord was both older and finely dressed than everyone else in the cart. He wore fur-trimmed robes with a heavy cloth gag in his mouth and a profoundly cynical expression.

Ralof snarled, shouting, "Watch your tongue! That's Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king."

The thief gaped in astonishment, staring at the last man. "High king? Leader of the rebellion?" He squawked, going pale once more. "Oh gods, where in Oblivion are they taking us?" He moaned, pulling on his short hair with his bound hands.

Ralof laughed harshly, "Helgen, you fool, where the block awaits!"

Hrothgar felt fear swell in his stomach. Execution? Surely he wouldn't have done...something that warranted execution. Or had he?

"Shut up back there!" The Imperial cart driver barked back at once. Ralof and the thief quieted, while Ulfric simply looked brooding. Hrothgar craned his neck to look at the road ahead, the throbbing in his head subsiding. They were still bouncing along the same dirt road as before, but it was noticeably shorter, with a high wood gate in the distance.

"Is that Helgen?" Hrothgar asked quietly, squinting at the figure in the distance. Ralof glanced for a moment, then nodded.

"The one and only. I was sweet on a girl here, when I was a boy. Wonder if Vilod's still making that mead with juniper berries. Who knew that Markarth could spit out a good recipe or two," Ralof said. Suddenly, his eyes turned back to the horse thief.

"Where you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you ask?" The thief spat, looking indignant. Ralof sighed in frustration.

"A Nord's last thought should be of home. I'm from Riverwood if that helps, you damned criminal."

The horse thief gulped, conflicted. "Rorikstead." He said quietly. "I'm from Rorikstead."

Ralof nodded understandingly, falling silent again. Hrothgar watched the road, waiting as it grew shorter with and shorter. The cart shuddered down the final stretch of road. Hrothgar attempted to soak in the last of the pine trees, the soaring hawks overhead, sharp mountain air. It might the last time he saw any of it. Finally, they had reached the gate.

"I didn't know they hired monsters and pirates," Ralof said dryly, his eyes fixed on the sentries. Hrothgar looked up, curious. An Orc and a Redguard, both in Imperial armor, stood next to two large levers, surveying the lines of carts going into Helgen. Frowning slightly at his partial friend's close-mindedness, Hrothgar instead looked at the road cart turned sharply into what appeared to be a small village. Red Imperial flags that Hrothgar recognised from the Imperial City as well as many Cyrodillian towns flapped angrily in the wind, an unfamiliar splash of color against the clear blue of the sky and the gray of the town.

As the cart turned a sharp corner, Hrothgar saw two people talking on horseback. One of them was an Altmer— significantly higher on her horse, dressed finely in black roves trimmed with gold. Hrothgar realized she was a Thalmor— High Elf wizards that were masters if both secrecy and espionage. He had run into both good and bad, but the corrupted seemed to outweigh the good-intentioned. Ralof, noticing Hrothgar staring, turned as well.

"Damn elves! Of course they had a hand in this," Ralof hissed, his eyes narrowing. "Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and fortresses made me feel so safe." He laughed bitterly, grinding his wrists together. "Look at me now."

The cart shuddered to a halt. The driver dropped out of the cart, and opened a small door, gesturing for them to get out. Hrothgar rose along with Ralof and Ulfric, trying to catch a glimpse of the science beyond the cart. Lokir looked panicky, stuttering, "what's happening? Where are they taking us?"

"End of the line," Ralof said softly with an expression of pity. He stood filing to the front of the cart, while the thief and then Hrothgar did the same. Hrothgar shuffled slowly down the length of the narrow cart behind the thief, dropping with a small thud to the hard-packed ground. The men before Hrothgar formed a small line, which he joined, leaning slightly to the right, looking past Ralof and the thief to look at what awaited him.

"Ralof of Riverwood?" Ralof whistled mockingly, giving the Imperial a wink before turning and joining his fellow soldiers. "It was a pleasure, Jarl Ulfric!" He called, earning a few whoops and cheers from his fellow soldiers.

The man holding the list sighed, moving his quill slightly. "Ulfric Stormcloak?" He asked tiredly, not even bothering to look up before checking his name off. Ulfric moved in a dignified manner to the group of other soldiers, silent as ever.

"Lokir of Rorikstead?" Lokir edged closer, his face ashen and completely devoid of color. Just before he reached the turn, he burst out, "I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"

The Imperial sighed, motioning for him to stand with the other prisoners. Lokir stood still for an instant, his eyes darting wildly from the Imperial to the cluster of sentenced soldiers. In a flash, he was off and running, tn the road at breakneck pace and laughing wildly, "You'll never catch me!"

The captain sighed, more in annoyance than concern. "Archers?" She grumbled, not bothering to turn around. Two men in imperial armor silently drew their bows instantly, each of the nocking an arrow. At the same time, they fired. Their arrows pierced Lokir's back almost at once, sending him flying face-first into the cobblestone road. Blood bloomed from his sack cloth clothes, staining the road. Hrothgar gaped as silence filled the scene, every eye fixed on the dead thief. Sure, he had been a little paranoid and panicky, but not deserving of death.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The captain questioned coldly, fixing a few prisoners with a cold stare. Silence still hung in the air. The woman smirked, crossing her arms. "In didn't think so." She sneered, tapping one foot.

The list-holding man sighed, turning back towards the still-stunned Hrothgar.

"Move forward, prisoner," he stated, gesturing. Hrothgar walked forward apprehensively, the image of Lokir blazed in his mind. The other man looked Hrothgar up and down slowly, snapping open his logbook.

"Who are you?" The Imperial asked, raising his quill.

"Hrothgar," he said quietly, fixing the other man with his best stare. The Imperial man clicked his tongue softly, moving down through his list. After a moment, confusion crinkled his brow. He ran his quill once, twice, then three times over the list before looking again at Hrothgar in confusion.

"Captain," he murmured slowly, never taking his eyes from Hrothgar, "he's not on the list."

For a moment, Hrothgar felt hope rise in his chest. Maybe he would live to travel back to Bruma, try being a mercenary elsewhere. By Talos, he'd never set foot upon the cursed snowy land ever again if he lived. The Imperial captain huffed, folding her arms over her steel-plated chest.

"Forget the list. He goes to he block with the rest," she said coldly, stubbing the ground with the pointed tip of her boot. "What's another dead Nord?"

Hatred rose deep from the out of Hrothgar's stomach, filling his veins like fire. Seldom had he felt such an intense moment of anger. The Imperial man looked genuinely sorry, saying, "I'm sorry kinsman. At least you'll die here, in your homeland."

The Imperial captain scoffed audibly, stubbing the ground with her pointed boot tip. Hrothgar was nearly certain that she would have laughed, had she not been a notoriously stiff Imperial.

"Follow the captain to the block prisoner," the Imperial man said softly, closing his log book. The captain whistled sharply and walked towards the gaggle of other soldiers, Hrothgar following reluctantly behind.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," he growled, stepping close to the a Nord. "Some here in Helgen would call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." Ulfric said nothing, looking as stony as he had been in the cart.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos. Now the empire is going to put you down like the little bitch you are, and restore the peace. You should be happy. You're our grand finale."

A noise tour through the air. It was faint, and what Hrothgar likened to a roar. The strange part was, it had come from the , he looked up at the sky. It was clear as ever, and distinctly strange sound free. Nervous muttering broke out among the soldiers as they looked suspiciously at the sky. Even the captain looked unsettled.

"What was that?" The Imperial with the list asked nervously, scanning the skies.

"What should we do, general?" She asked uncertainly, her eyes fixed uneasily on the sky. "We can't execute them if they die first."

The general laughed darkly, folding his arms. "No need to fret, captain. They'll think the rustling in the bushes will save them from the block. Carry on."

The woman still looked nervous, but still thumped her breastplate. "By your orders, general Tullius," she said, just a little too loudly, stepping back slightly and folding her arms. "Give them their last rights," she commanded to a priestess, dressed in the hooded robes used for servants of the nine.

The priestess smiled warmly, and began her prayer. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, the blessings of the eight are upon you. For you are the salt and blood of Nirn, our beloved—"

A loud scoff interrupted her. "For the love of Talos, shut the fuck up. I haven't got all morning!" A Stormcloak shouted jeeringly. The other soldiers yelled out in support, and Hrothgar half felt like joining in himself. The priestess looked shocked, her arms still raised in prayer. The imperial captain growled, gesturing for her to move back.

"As you wish," the priestess sniffed, folding her arms and stepping back with the captain, who gave a tight-lipped smile.

"Congratulations. Your head rolls first," she growled, pinning the soldier's arms behind his back. She marched him to the block, forcing him to his knees and pressing his neck to the bloody hunk of rock with her strong boots. The red-haired soldier sneered at the masked headsman, crowing, "My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials. Can you say the same?"

The captain rolled her eyes, making a gesture. The masked headsman nodded, taking the axe slowly from its sheath. Silently, he raised it— the brought it back. In respect for the nameless soldier, Hrothgar looked away, but could still hear the audible splatter of blood. As he looked back, the man's head had fallen nearly in a small wooden box, while his corpse flopped on the ground. The captain kicked it to the side, scrunching her nose at the body.

"You Imperial bastards!" A woman's voice cried. Hrothgar felt a pang on sympathy for her. He was likely her friend, brother, lover. The captain ignored her, scanning the crowd of prisoners for her next victim. After a moment, her eyes fixed on Hrothgar.

"Next, the Nord in the rags!" She called, pointing squarely at Hrothgar. Another roar filled the sky. More unease spread through the soldiers, sending them murmuring once again. The captain looked more worried than ever, but gestured to Hrothgar.

"I said, next prisoner!" She barked through gritted teeth, beckoning Hrothgar forward again. Hrothgar walked forward slowly, the dread in his core feeling heavy as lead. In what felt like both a lifetime and a heartbeat, he had reached the chopping block, gingerly stepping over the body of the ex-soldier who lay dead on the ground. Looking down, he realized in disgust that the stone was gleaming with blood from the last ill-fated Stormcloak who lay only a foot away.

"On your knees."

The captain's sharp voice drew Hrothgar's attention away from the dead Stormcloak. If he was to die by execution, he would at least do it with dignity. Grimacing, Hrothgar kneeled down reluctantly, placing his neck into the stone indentation. He could have sworn that he could _feel_ the warmth of th blood. He craned his neck awkwardly, not wanting to spend his final moments looking into the eyes of a dead man. He quickly realized it was almost worse, staring into the masked executioner's eyes. Even from this distance, he could see his blind eye, smell the leather mixing with the scent of blood.

A boot pressed into his back. No chance of escaping then, he thought dryly, swallowing hard. The headsman raised his axe from where it lay against his leg. He raises it up high, Hrothgar forcing himself to keep his eyes level—

An unearthly shriek turned through the air, the very ground rumbling. The headsman stumbled, and the weight of the boot disappeared from Hrothgar's back, so she must have been jarred as well. Something black— and something large soared through the sky behind the stone tower directly behind the execution block. Hrothgsr lifted his neck slightly, straining to see what it was, but it was gone.

Behind him, confusion broke out. Over the strained voices, Hrothgar caught a few snippets of conversation. "It's in the clouds!" "Sentries, what do you see?" "By the gods, what the fuck is that thing?"

None of them had to wait long. Moments later, it reappeared, soaring from the clouds, hovering above the tower. The thing paused for a moment, surveying Helgen. Then, it opened its mouth— and shouted. A rumbling tore through Helgen as the previously clear sky filled with dark, angry storm clouds, sending shudders through the very earth. The thing dipped— and landed on the tower. Its landing shook the ground around it, sending both Imperials and Stormcloaks stumbling. The execution, who had just regained his footing, stumbled again, lowering his axe and leaving Hrothgar an alarmingly clear view of the thing. It was black as ebony, covered in curling, spiky scales. Claws that looked as though they could effortlessly tear a man in half gripped the building, gouging out bricks and sending them flying haphazardly. But worst of all were the eyes, glowing red with some ancient fire. It was a dragon.

"Zu'u lost daal!" It cried, throwing back its head to let out an earth-shaking roar. Words formed in Hrothgar's mind― "I have returned!" Before Hrothgar had time to realize that he had just understood a _dragon_, the thing turned back to the crowd. It looked around, its glowing eyes scanning the crowd. Then, its eyes fixed on Hrothgar. He felt the hot, nervous adrenaline pump through his veins as they stared at one another, man and beast, for a solid moment. The dragon opened its massive jaws again, and spoke. But this time, Hrothgar could have sworn it was directly to him.

"Dovakiin."

* * *

**AN - Hey everybody. This is the second of my three writing projects, and of course about my favorite game series, Elder Scrolls. I've always wondered what it would be like if the absolutely stereotypical male Nord from all the promotion art and such were actually the dragonborn. There are very few male Nord dragonborns out there, and I think it would be interesting if there were more. So I'm testing out Hrothgar the dragonborn. I hope you all enjoy this story, and stick with me for awhile. This chapter is a little short, but I'll be updating soon. I don't know if any of you have read my other fanfiction, but I promised this by Monday. Sorry, I know its Tuesday. This was surprisingly hard to write, but I'm actually very pleased with how it turned out. I know it's a little long, but this is a scene, when you are first in Skyrim, that really is detailed and deserves attention. I hope you'll stick around until next update anyways. Until next time.**


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